Composers have long been attracted to the spatial element in music, in which divisions in physical space are created through varied placements of the musicians in the performance area. The technique seems to have originated in response to an architectural format, as with the cori spezzati that were popular in St. Mark’s cathedral in sixteenth-century Venice. The vogue, once started, continued for some time, though eventually waned by the eighteenth century, at which point spatial divisions were employed largely for dramatic effects (as in the conclusion of Act 1 of Mozart’s Don Giovanni) or for atypically large sonorities (as in Berlioz’s Te Deum and Requiem).
Musical space provides an exhilarating sense of drama in numerous instances in Johann Sebastian Bach’s St. Matthew Passion, BWV 244 of 1727. Its opening chorus “Kommt, ihr Töchter, helft mir klagen” (Come, you daughters, help me mourn), in particular, uses spatial divisions to create a wondrous sense of drama in response to Matthew’s account of Jesus’ suffering and death. This movement is not a part of the passion narrative—that must wait for the second movement—but rather is an introductory lament that sets the tone for what is to follow. Moreover, it is an eighteenth-century meditation on the significance of Christ’s death for humankind.
The sublime musical drama in this movement is founded on a division of the performers into two equal-sized groups, each featuring an SATB choir and an orchestra of winds, strings and continuo (brass and percussion would be reserved for the following Easter Sunday). At the premiere performance, all musicians were assembled in the rear choir loft of the St. Thomaskirche in Leipzig, concealed from the view of the majority of the congregation, one group placed to the left of the central organ, the other to the right. Additionally, a group of boy sopranos was placed to the east of the choir loft, to be used only in the opening and closing movements of Part 1.
Its first performance on Good Friday, April 11, 1727, with thousands in attendance, must have been miraculous. We can presume that the idea for this striking arrangement was Bach’s own, but some input may have been provided by the passion librettist, commonly identified by his pseudonym Picander. Picander was certainly responsible for composing individual characteristics for each choir that are preserved for the duration of the work. In his published libretto he designated Choir 1 as “The Daughters of Zion” (a Biblical reference to the city of Jerusalem and the reference to the title of the opening movement) and Choir 2 as “The Faithful.” Choir 1 thus represents those who lamented Jesus’ death, and Choir 2 the community of believers in his mission.
Though Bach curiously chose not to incorporate Picander’s designations in his score, he composed for each choir in such a way that their identities are readily audible. In the opening movement, Choir 1 is given the bulk of the text, while Choir 2 poses single-word questions (What? Who? How?) in response to Choir 1. This plan is preserved until the concluding section (mm. 73–87), at which point both choirs sing in unison, creating a breathtaking mass of choral sound. One can almost picture the two choral groups on each side of the road to Golgotha (the site of the crucifixion), witnessing Jesus bear the cross. This was a concept proposed by Albert Schweitzer in the early twentieth century, and one that is strikingly credible on the basis of the repeated, insistent iambic rhythm in the bass, which could be likened to a slow, laborious walk. In effect, the choirs are engaged in a dialogue, and Choir 1 is calling the listener to witness the horror of Christ’s crucifixion.
Amazingly, there is more. Picander incorporated allegorical elements in the opening movement, two of which were well known in the Christian doctrine. Jesus is likened both to a bridegroom (“See him! Who? The bridegroom there,” the reference being to the Church as the bride betrothed to Christ) and a lamb (“See him! How? Just like a lamb,” a comparison with the sacrificial lamb as an offering for sin). At the point at which Choir 1 sings the word “lamb,” Bach brings in the boy soprano group, which sings the Lutheran hymn O Lamm Gottes, unschuldig (“Oh, Lamb of God, Unspotted”). This is a jarring moment in the passion as a whole, not so much because of the appearance of this third choral group, but because of the way in which the hymn is set. “Set” is perhaps not the appropriate term, because, in effect, the G-major hymn is “pasted” on top of the E-minor music, sounding almost as if it were an intrusion. Here, Bach is offering us two differing viewpoints on Christ’s passion: Picander’s words comment on Christ’s suffering, while those of the Lutheran hymn comment on Christ’s innocence. The two work together, but the listener cannot help but experiencing a few moments of unease. They are dissimilar, yet they are compatible. They clash and grind, yet never resolve, and surely this was Bach’s exact intent.
The elegiac tone of the text and the minor key of the music would inevitably entail a chromatically rich harmonic palette, featuring a wealth of dissonances, secondary dominants, diminished-seventh chords and Neapolitan-sixth chords, with momentary suspensions of tonal centers. The tone is set from the opening measure, in which a chromatically sinuous theme in the oboe begins clearly in E minor and wanders almost immediately into another tonal area (the subdominant), though quickly returns to E minor. Curiously, this theme is given to the bass voices with the first entry of Choir 1 in m. 17. One might expect that the opening melody would be given to the more readily audible sopranos, yet they sing a countermelody that balances harmonically with the basses:
Musical space provides an exhilarating sense of drama in numerous instances in Johann Sebastian Bach’s St. Matthew Passion, BWV 244 of 1727. Its opening chorus “Kommt, ihr Töchter, helft mir klagen” (Come, you daughters, help me mourn), in particular, uses spatial divisions to create a wondrous sense of drama in response to Matthew’s account of Jesus’ suffering and death. This movement is not a part of the passion narrative—that must wait for the second movement—but rather is an introductory lament that sets the tone for what is to follow. Moreover, it is an eighteenth-century meditation on the significance of Christ’s death for humankind.
The sublime musical drama in this movement is founded on a division of the performers into two equal-sized groups, each featuring an SATB choir and an orchestra of winds, strings and continuo (brass and percussion would be reserved for the following Easter Sunday). At the premiere performance, all musicians were assembled in the rear choir loft of the St. Thomaskirche in Leipzig, concealed from the view of the majority of the congregation, one group placed to the left of the central organ, the other to the right. Additionally, a group of boy sopranos was placed to the east of the choir loft, to be used only in the opening and closing movements of Part 1.
Its first performance on Good Friday, April 11, 1727, with thousands in attendance, must have been miraculous. We can presume that the idea for this striking arrangement was Bach’s own, but some input may have been provided by the passion librettist, commonly identified by his pseudonym Picander. Picander was certainly responsible for composing individual characteristics for each choir that are preserved for the duration of the work. In his published libretto he designated Choir 1 as “The Daughters of Zion” (a Biblical reference to the city of Jerusalem and the reference to the title of the opening movement) and Choir 2 as “The Faithful.” Choir 1 thus represents those who lamented Jesus’ death, and Choir 2 the community of believers in his mission.
Though Bach curiously chose not to incorporate Picander’s designations in his score, he composed for each choir in such a way that their identities are readily audible. In the opening movement, Choir 1 is given the bulk of the text, while Choir 2 poses single-word questions (What? Who? How?) in response to Choir 1. This plan is preserved until the concluding section (mm. 73–87), at which point both choirs sing in unison, creating a breathtaking mass of choral sound. One can almost picture the two choral groups on each side of the road to Golgotha (the site of the crucifixion), witnessing Jesus bear the cross. This was a concept proposed by Albert Schweitzer in the early twentieth century, and one that is strikingly credible on the basis of the repeated, insistent iambic rhythm in the bass, which could be likened to a slow, laborious walk. In effect, the choirs are engaged in a dialogue, and Choir 1 is calling the listener to witness the horror of Christ’s crucifixion.
Amazingly, there is more. Picander incorporated allegorical elements in the opening movement, two of which were well known in the Christian doctrine. Jesus is likened both to a bridegroom (“See him! Who? The bridegroom there,” the reference being to the Church as the bride betrothed to Christ) and a lamb (“See him! How? Just like a lamb,” a comparison with the sacrificial lamb as an offering for sin). At the point at which Choir 1 sings the word “lamb,” Bach brings in the boy soprano group, which sings the Lutheran hymn O Lamm Gottes, unschuldig (“Oh, Lamb of God, Unspotted”). This is a jarring moment in the passion as a whole, not so much because of the appearance of this third choral group, but because of the way in which the hymn is set. “Set” is perhaps not the appropriate term, because, in effect, the G-major hymn is “pasted” on top of the E-minor music, sounding almost as if it were an intrusion. Here, Bach is offering us two differing viewpoints on Christ’s passion: Picander’s words comment on Christ’s suffering, while those of the Lutheran hymn comment on Christ’s innocence. The two work together, but the listener cannot help but experiencing a few moments of unease. They are dissimilar, yet they are compatible. They clash and grind, yet never resolve, and surely this was Bach’s exact intent.
The elegiac tone of the text and the minor key of the music would inevitably entail a chromatically rich harmonic palette, featuring a wealth of dissonances, secondary dominants, diminished-seventh chords and Neapolitan-sixth chords, with momentary suspensions of tonal centers. The tone is set from the opening measure, in which a chromatically sinuous theme in the oboe begins clearly in E minor and wanders almost immediately into another tonal area (the subdominant), though quickly returns to E minor. Curiously, this theme is given to the bass voices with the first entry of Choir 1 in m. 17. One might expect that the opening melody would be given to the more readily audible sopranos, yet they sing a countermelody that balances harmonically with the basses:
Expectedly, the two melodies work in invertible counterpoint, which happens with the words “Sehet ihn aus Lieb und Huld” (See how he with love and grace) in m. 75 (note that the tenor line sounds an octave lower).
The following example illustrates the first appearance of the boy soprano group singing the hymn O Lamm Gottes, unschuldig in m. 30. We can see that the hymn agrees harmonically with Bach’s music, yet defiantly preserves its G-major tonality in an E-minor context:
The extended melismas that highlight the critical word “klagen” (mourn) are found in numerous instances in this movement.
Imagine being seated on a hard wooden pew in an unheated church on Good Friday, April 11, 1727 in Leipzig. Imagine the service starting, following an extended absence of music in the worship schedule, with the opening movement of the Cantor’s musical account of The Gospel of Matthew. Imagine the first entry of Choir 1 in m. 17 positioned to one side of the church, followed by the entry of Choir 2 in m. 27 positioned to the other side. Imagine then the entry of the third choral group, positioned to another side of the church, moments later in m. 30. This early form of surround-sound must have made for an utterly magical experience.
Imagine being seated on a hard wooden pew in an unheated church on Good Friday, April 11, 1727 in Leipzig. Imagine the service starting, following an extended absence of music in the worship schedule, with the opening movement of the Cantor’s musical account of The Gospel of Matthew. Imagine the first entry of Choir 1 in m. 17 positioned to one side of the church, followed by the entry of Choir 2 in m. 27 positioned to the other side. Imagine then the entry of the third choral group, positioned to another side of the church, moments later in m. 30. This early form of surround-sound must have made for an utterly magical experience.
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